Kim’s Pride Dream Deferred

Dream Deferred

Dong
Hyun Kim is a star in his native South Korea. | J.
Evans/Sherdog.com

BUSAN, South Korea -- It was a rainy Saturday in Seoul. The gym was
nothing extraordinary: mats, heavy bags, a ring and clutter near
the coach’s office. It smelled of the sweaty, worn interior of
boxing gloves, mildew and urinals that did not quite flush enough.
It was empty, save two fighters training diligently.

Perhaps all that stood out from your average gym fare was the music
on the stereo: the epic, unmistakable thump of the
Pride Fighting Championships fighter parade theme. The playlist
shuffled through appropriate follow-ups: “Sandstorm” by Darude,
“Wild Boys” by Duran Duran, “Age Age Every Knight” by DJ Ozma --
the entrance tracks of Wanderlei
Silva, Mirko “Cro
Cop” Filipovic and Akihiro
Gono. Though unmistakably cheesy, the music did something to
raise the level of the workout.

The date was Oct. 7, 2007. Today, Pride is but a vivid memory.
However, more than three years later, that lanky welterweight on
the mat, Dong Hyun
Kim, has turned out to be one of the UFC’s most promising
up-and-coming 170-pounders.

That day, Kim -- not yet known as the “Stun Gun” -- was preparing
to fly to Japan and rematch then Deep
welterweight champion Hidehiko
Hasegawa for the title. Kim had knocked out Hasegawa two months
earlier in a non-title affair, removing him from consciousness with
a brutal slam with just seconds to go in the fight. Three days
later, Kim returned home, winless and beltless. He and Hasegawa
battled to a controversial majority draw in a fight most felt Kim
won. After everyone took their cut, Kim took home just $300 for his
effort.

D. Mandel

Dong Hyun Kim will take on
Nate Diaz (above) at UFC 125.

The disappointment was compounded. As he tore through Deep, racking
up a 7-0-1 mark in just 16 months, Kim had been in talks to fight
in Pride over the previous few months. In spite of Zuffa LLC’s
purchase of Pride in March 2007, he remained hopeful he would get
the chance the chance to fight for what was then the biggest
promotion in the world.

“Growing up, it was my dream to fight in Pride,” Kim says. “In
those days, Pride was much bigger than the UFC, and when I found
out that Pride wanted me to fight for them, I was so happy I
shouted. Then, I waited and waited for a fight, and the delay went
on and on. I was depressed and wasted my time just training and
waiting.”

Though Kim has told the story countless times, it still clearly
bothers him.

“It wasn’t like I just got a phone call and found out that Pride
was gone,” he recalls with genuine sorrow. “What I remember is the
waiting.”

There was a time when you could not turn on Korean television
without seeing a clip of Fedor
Emelianenko cresting mid-suplex in Kevin
Randleman’s arms; Quinton
“Rampage” Jackson napping in the ropes, blood spewing from his
forehead courtesy of Wanderlei
Silva; or Kazushi
Sakuraba battling through some intermediate stage of snuff
movie-type disrepair. That quickly ended with the death of Pride.
Gone were the live events, replays and two-hour “best of” specials.
The golden era of Japanese MMA, the ramp, the pyrotechnics, the
cavernous venues, choreographed entrances and orchestra-laden
opening ceremonies seem like ages ago.

Gone, too, was Kim’s contract. The biggest stars of a uniquely
Asian brand of MMA were about to begin their slow drift west. Kim
would be instrumental in changing the perception in Korea of the
UFC as little more than a late-night MMA infomercial.

Today, “Stun Gun” is a star in his native South Korea, where he has
almost single-handedly created a market for UFC programming. He is
the focus of television specials. He is featured in magazines. He
does Korean-language commentary for UFC events and television
commercials for Reebok. Though “household name” might be a stretch,
Kim is just a tier or two below.

“

Growing up, it
was my dream to
fight in Pride.

”

-- Dong Hyun
Kim

As Kim shuffles down a sidewalk in his home of
Busan, a group of rowdy high school boys spot him from the second
floor of their sports academy. The youths suspend their workouts
and wedge their heads into the space below the windows to yell
encouragement. He gets but a few steps further before some younger
girls ask Kim to sign his autograph in their notebooks, giggling
all the while. A middle-aged man waits on the periphery of the
girls. The most self-conscious of the bunch, he waits patiently,
until the girls have dispersed, to ask for a picture with Kim. The
whole scenario plays out in just a five-minute span.

Yet, despite his undefeated record, Kim remains a fringe main card
fighter on UFC pay-per-view telecasts. Casual North American fans
know very little about him.

“Some people call me Asian or Japanese, or Chinese. Korea is a very
developed nation that has produced many great athletes. I am
Korean. Ko-re-an,” he says, enunciating the syllables.

“We’re always in the top 10 in the medal count at the Olympics,”
Kim says. He then smiles before he pauses and clarifies his
statement, deadpanning: “That’s South Korean, not North
Korean.”